


Just Another Voice

by DaWolfyDaWolf



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Oneshot, READ NOTES, Starvation, They are all characters!, Violence, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade are Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28617960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaWolfyDaWolf/pseuds/DaWolfyDaWolf
Summary: Wilbur was dead: to begin with.After his death, Wilbur struggles to communicate with the people who knew the living Wilbur, especially his twin brother Techno, who refuses to respond to any of his messages. The longer he lives for, the more memories Wilbur loses, and he scared that he will forget everyone.This was written way before any recent lore stream/Tommy went to Techno.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Niki | Nihachu & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51





	Just Another Voice

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE BE CAUTIOUS WHEN READING THIS, IT CONTAINS MANY TRIGGERING ASPECTS.  
> It contains Death, Violence, descriptions of Dissociation/Depression, Imprisonment and Starvation.
> 
> Thank you to @sleepyaeons on Twitter for giving this one-shot a beta read and being an amazing friend. Pond buddy :)

_COLD_

_ CAN I BORROW SOME WARMTH? _

_ NO? BACK TO COLD I GUESS. _

_ I KNOW THAT YOU ARE THERE, IMMORTAL _

_ STOP IGNORING ME  _

_ PLEASE COME BACK? _

_**YOU’RE JUST ANOTHER VOICE.** _

*

If it weren't for the embers, Wilbur would've mistook the ash for snow. 

The particles fell from the sky in a storm, covering the remains, the forest of pine trees nearby and even stretching as far as decorating the top of the sea. Wilbur had always liked the snow, for he could spend the time huddled indoors with his family, resting a head on his twin’s shoulder for comfort. This was not snow.

Smoke filled the air when he woke, covering the sky in a series of greys, blacks and the sooty flakes from fire, disregarding the normally bright colours of the Dream SMP’s sky and making it a dull hopeless image of destruction. Embers floated in the air, dying quickly as they got further away from the flames that were scattered across the craters.

 _Where was he_? His mind wondered, looking down upon the country way above the ground, in the air and amongst the fumes. 

Breathing in, he did not smell the suffocating aroma of smoke and nor could he taste the ash, neither the feel of the wind against his face. He could only hear the crackling of fire and the sad sight of the wreckage below him. So two of five senses. 

_What happened here_? Wilbur wished he knew, but all he could remember was tears falling down his cheeks, the sounds of a sibling’s choking gasps and the screams of a father crying out for his deceased son.

_“THAT’S MY SON!” the man screamed, clutching onto the corpse, the gleaming, crystal blue blade still sticking out from his stomach, “THAT’S MY BOY! NO!” the father pushed away the hands of the baker, trying to keep the soul of his son trapped in the body, so he wouldn’t leave. Sobs wrecked the air._

It took hours for the smoke to disperse, finally revealing the remains of whatever had been there before the obvious explosions. Two decaying sets of three crumbled, black skulls of two monstrous creatures, their rib cages exposed and the lines of ribbed cracked and the star that would hide in the centre, destroyed. 

Weaving the rubbles and pushing off chunks of former buildings and paths, groups of people emerged, clumped up together and discussing the future. Leading the group, limped a bandage covered boy with chocolate hair and a face too young for a war, beside him, a much tall blond boy wiped blood off the top of his lip from a nosebleed that hadn’t left.

Wilbur, curious as ever, floated down in front of the group, trying to get a closer description of them. And with widened eyes and a small gasp of god-knows-what emotion, he recognised them.

He recognised the baker with a pretty smile, the boy he watched grow up, his semi-adopted brother, his youngest brother and his father, who stood at the back of the group, protecting them from someone waiting in the shadows.

But there were some he didn’t recognize, like the boy with the beanie, the bald fellow with strange three-dimensional glasses and a goofy grinned boy who had a bright coloured sweater. They look nice, Wilbur wondered if he knew them.

The group stopped and stared in front of them, almost looking straight at Wilbur. But their eyes were far from focusing on him, rather frozen in place with sorrowful expressions at something behind him.

Wilbur turned his head, hoping to remember.

Once he had, all he wanted to do was forget.

Amongst the rubble of the dark colour of blackstone, an explosion crater, broken halfway through, sat a room. On the untouched side, there were scribbles. The scribbles had no sanity to them, written in a short span of possession.

The scribbles sang a song, a song that had almost been sung the day it _almost_ happened. Now that it did, the song was incomplete, splattered with the blood of it’s singer. Songbird singing no more.

Lying, alone, in the centre of the room, the body of a son, brother, father; President and rebel did not move. A sword sticking out of his stomach, a trail of blood flowing out of his mouth, curls of hair singed at the end and two brown eyes who stared blankly at the burning sky.

Wilbur did not like knowing whose body that was.

*

_ ARE YOU THERE? _

_ PLEASE ANSWER ME _

**_STOP TRYING TO COMMUNICATE, BOAR._ **

_ BUT WE ARE TWINS. WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE CLOSE. PLEASE HELP. _

_ CAN I BE WARM THEN? _

_ IMMORTAL, PLEASE? _

*

**TEN YEARS AGO**

Wilbur felt terrible.

“God, I am so moving to a warmer world when I’m twenty,” Wilbur hissed to himself, being from a central northern country in the Mother Earth the late nights of the autumn season would bring nothing but chilling winds and thunderous storms, that worsened the closer to Yule you got. 

Tucking his numb fingers deeper under his armpits, he rubbed his cheek against his shoulder in order to move the blood around. Even this dark out, Wil knew that if he had a light shining on his breath, a dragon like release of condensation would come pouring out of his reddened nose. 

“Techno! Come on, come back! I’m sorry!” He called out to the wind, kicking away a fallen branch that was close to being in his way.

Admittedly, what Wilbur had done was stupid and foolish, afterwards he had tried to reason with his father but he got, quite fairly, shut down.

It was a bad and too long of a day for the youngest of the twins, though he doesn’t have as many voices stuck in his head like his brother, he does have one and he hated it. Today was one of those days where the voice decided to overpower the boy, making him sluggish and tired, filling his head with unwanted nonsense that, if anyone heard, would get him in trouble.

He snapped at Techno.

He snapped at Techno because his twin was being a good brother and asking what happened when Wilbur had stomped into their room and fell on his bed with an angry sigh. To which he graciously responded by snapping at him to stop talking.

Wilbur remembered glancing at his brother, seeing him anxiously tuck into himself after, somehow ticking Wil off more.

A simple reflex from yelling led to a full blown attack on one another, the argument going from a two sided snapping constant, to deprecating insults and too quickly into Wilbur figuratively beating Techno whilst he was down.

_“Just because you’re the shitting favourite, doesn't mean you can act all high and fucking mighty all the time,” Wilbur screamed at Techno, who flinched violently at the words._

_Swallowing he began to try and defend himself, “I- I’m not the favourite-”_

_“Oh really?” Wilbur snapped, “So your dad didn’t turn up to your fighting class, just to watch you fail completely?” Techno’s eyes shot up to Wilbur’s face, taking a very big step back, “and he didn’t forget you existed? Because he did with me!”_

_“That’s not true-”_

_“YES IT FUCKING IS, YOU IDIOT! JUST LIKE HOW YOU DON’T GIVE ONE ABOUT ME!”_

The silence had been classically deafening as the words processed in the other’s mind. Wilbur remembered how Techno had stood across the room from him, a tear falling slowly down his paled cheeks.

So there Wilbur was, rushing after his brother, who had run into the woods about four hours ago and not yet returned to his worried father and scared youngest brother, complaining about the miserable weather he should be accustomed to by now.

“Techno!” He hopeless called, wanting badly just to go home with his twin and sleep alongside him. 

A cold chill ripped itself down his neck, making him shiver violently as the wind howled through the shaking trees, beams of moonlight moving upon the floor in a weird dance as the elements shifted.

In the corner of Wilbur’s eye, something caught his eye and his breath hitched. Hanging, torn and descarged, a pastel pink hoodie blew in the wind. Only one person in the whole town wore an abnormal colour like that, and it was the person Wilbur loved the most.

Quickening his pace, Wilbur ripped the hoodie of the branches, tucking it into his coat through the gap for his head, ignoring the dampness that appeared as he pressed onwards and in the air, felt the temperature drop.

His yells became frantic as he searched the woodland for his brother, every passing second dropping more anxiety and fear into his mind, “TECHNO!”

“Wilbur?” replied a muffle voice, sending Wilbur’s mind into a haywire, spinning around to remember where the voice descended from.

“Techno!” he yelled in a random direction.

Behind him, his brother’s voice broke through the trees, “Wilbur!”

Pushing past a thorn bush, ignoring slices of pain that ripped through his skin, reaching a hand out to grab the blue coloured, pale hand of his twin. In the moonlight, the rims of Techno’s caseous eyes were red from obvious crying and he had a cut lip leaking dark liquid.

Embracing his brother, Wilbur’s words whispered apologies as the two began to sob, clutching onto each other.

Shivering as a warm hand raked through the locks of dyed pink hair, only wearing a torn grey shirt that had been covered by the hoodie, Techno heaved through the tears, “I thought you forgot about me”

Wilbur’s heart broke, tightening his grip on the other before starting to pull off the jacket he was wearing, wrapping it around the pale shivering shoulders, “Techno, I will always, always, remember you, no matter where you are or what you become. How could I forget you?”

*

_ DID YOU FORGET ME? _

_ I HAVE FORGOTTEN ME. _

*

**PRESENT TO THE STORY**

The first night had been the worst, as the group of friends were made to set up thinly clothed tents during a cold autumn night. Where the black blanket of the sky covered their sleeping heads in a hopeful reminder of tomorrow's day and how the suffering the bright sky had thrown down upon them.

Situated in a clearing just outside of L’Manberg, next to the spruce forests nearby and the river to the right of it all, with flat enough ground to sleep comfortably away from the rubble that fell around the grassy plains near the city.

There were five tents in total, mostly split into three persons per tent, all positioned in a horseshoe around the embers of a fire that had brought comfort instead of carnage. The people in the tents were shaking against the cold, with those who were sharing a tent, cramped up together to have more heat spread across them as the cold hand began to make uncovered body parts numb to the bone.

Wilbur knew this of course from his hours sitting outside the tents, watching as the pretty baker and the traitor shared one with no hesitation whatsoever, or how there was a pile of children draped across a poor survivors’ body, who always had one hand on each child, just in case.

All were split off into their own sleeping groups, silently chosen, too worried about scaring the new President of the country, a sixteen year old boy. The same sixteen year old boy who fought under the leadership of the Revolutionist and had rebelled against the leadership of the Businessman. The same sixteen year old boy who had been betrayed twice, killed from a dark room with no escape and a firework lit by a fearful warrior. The same boy who had his head in the crook of his adopted father’s shoulder with his arm wrapped securely around another sixteen year old boy who had dirt-ridden blond hair.

Outside of the tents, sat a lonesome boy under the night’s sky, trying to ignore the tears that fell slowly from his face. It broke Wilbur’s heart to see the boy he had watched grow up sitting by himself, guiding his friends from whatever danger lay in the trees.

His orange hair glowed in the light of the flames, illuminating his pain as his ears twitched at the slighted sound from the forest or how his eyes burnt whilst he stared intensely at the dying embers.

Wilbur hovered around him, wanting so badly to hold the fox hybrid and ask why he was crying. All Wil could do was watch, so he moved to sit beside his friend and watched the embers. The two sat on the log, unable to truly see one another, lost in their own worlds. Sitting so close to each other yet so far away.

A somber silence for a somber world, for the boy’s case, a memory of a smiling father who held his hand and stayed by his side when he was ill, and for Wilbur’s, a headache from trying to recall the past.

Whimpers broke through the air, clashing with the sounds of fire and the swishing of trees, startling Wilbur. They came from the boy next to him, with streaks of tears pouring down his face as he hugged his legs and pressing his cheeks against his knees.

The ghost’s heart broke and he didn’t know why.

Reaching a translucent hand, Wil brush ginger locks away from red eyes, hoping to provide some sort of comfort.

Fundy stilled, shaking brutally as the wind breathed a cold breeze into the clearing and from the tears that scarred his face. Whispering under his breath, cursing at world, making Wilbur confused as the hybrid hiss, “Fuck you, Wil.”

“Fuck-,” Fundy choked on his words, “fuck you dad.”

Then Wilbur remembered.

*

_ I CANNOT TOUCH HIM, I CANNOT TOUCH THE BOY I WATCHED GROW. _

_ ANY SUGGESTIONS ON WHAT TO DO? _

_ IMMORTAL? _

*

When Wilbur first appeared to an alive person, a few days after he died, he made his friend shake and he immediately wanted to leave.

Tubbo, the small boy who had fought alongside against the tyrannical rule of the Dream SMP quartet, who had always given Wilbur the biggest smile whenever he saw him. Tubbo, with the brightest eyes of their group and who adored small little creatures called bees and everything about him.

The brightness had been lost, replaced with indestructible grief as he walked around the remains of home, giving the young adult a look far older than his age. Brown hair, formally long and distracting, had been cut choppily close to his head, burnt crumbs of strands mixing with the alive.

Wilbur had watched his friend wander alone around the edge of the remains of the country, kicking at the small pebbles down into the large craters and watching as they stop falling completely. On Tubbo’s hip, sat shining diamond tools ready to be used for good, a small metal box full of pencil-case standard items, spare paper folded up tightly in a case and a leather water pouch.

Sadness bloomed in the ghost, as he watched the boy look up at the destruction and it scared him that he didn’t know why. He sat on the edge of a crater, happily observing the boy who had begun to sketch out his plans for the future of the country whose tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth and eyebrows scrunched together in concentration.

Warmth spread through Wilbur, a feeling he was no longer accustomed to, it was so warm, he almost felt alive.

Once every few seconds, Tubbo would snap his head up to examine the area only to scribble drawings all over the blueprinting and writing tiny notes to accompany them. In a quiet peace, the two, or technically one, let the birds sing and the sun beat down upon them. Then Tubbo saw him.

Upon seeing Wilbur, Tubbo went into a frozen state, not blinking or moving a muscle. Either it was fear or surprise, most likely a dangerous mixture of both. The wind softly blowing his scruffed hair into the doe chocolate eyes gaped at the ghost.

“Wil- Wilbur?” he stuttered, his hands beginning to shake.

“Can you see me?” Wilbur whispered, moving up from his spot and floating closer to his former third in command, who instinctively stepped back. Faltering, Wilbur stopped, his hand half way from rising and fell short.

Tubbo hesitantly replied, noticing the quiet sadness on the ghost, “Yes”

Breathing in deeply. Wilbur walked slowly toward Tubbo, wanting so badly to reach up and touch him, but he’s already tried that and it failed.

”You’re the first person to!” He yipped happily, arms wide and a giant grin resting upon the purple colour of his lips. The sudden fear of harming his friend was replaced with a joyful mask that had been glued on his face.

“Really? An honour,” Tubbo replied, smiling sadly at the ghost, spinning as he watched amazed as Wilbur zoomed around him, making a small chuckle appear from the boy’s lips. They ran merrily around one another, laughing harder each second with the boy’s ribs hurting and his head spinning, but the ghost kept going.

A slip on a pebble, Tubbo fell with a thud, his deep brown eyes twirling in their sockets as the sky spun in circles, and his head throbbing from the ring around the roses the two had played. Wilbur fell with him, despite not being able to feel it, he lay in the grass alongside the dark haired child, unaware of their history.

Laughter filled the air, two revolutionists enjoying each other’s company. Tubbo ribs hurt but he didn’t want to stop. He had missed Wilbur. Alas, the silence came, not heavy as it used to be when they had sat in the dark ravine they called a ‘home’.

“What happened L’manberg?” the ghost asked, turning onto his stomach and gliding a look across the craters and the rubbles.

Tubbo turned his head to Wilbur, letting the grass tickle at his face, “Don’t you remember?” 

“I hardly remember anything these days.” True. Sometimes, on the worse days, Wilbur would go almost off world, his mind disappearing into a world far from the spiritual body left behind, as if he went to a quiet sleep half way through the day. When he awoke, he would struggle to remember where he was, not used to the giant craters and burned area he roused to.

Then he would hear a deep voice, whispering all forms of gibberish at the darkest hour of the night, light chuckles and a faked egotistical personality.. 

Silence. The suffocating kind of silence. The silence where you wish to scream to make it stop. The one you hear at dinner tables when your brother announces he’s leaving. Painful and antagonising. 

Sighing, the boy who grew up too fast stood up, brushing off the flakes of grass and dirt that attached itself to his trousers and jacket, the friendly and bubbly expression gone. In its place sat a stoic calm, giving those large eyes a dim and broken look to them.

“There was an explosion, Wilbur,” Tubbo gravely answered, focusing on anywhere but the spirit, “An explosion that blew up L’Manberg and everything it stood for.”

*

_ IMMORTAL, DID YOU KNOW THERE ONCE WAS A SPECIAL PLACE? I USED TO LIVE THERE! _

_ YOU SHOULD COME VISIT. _

_ PLEASE STOP IGNORING ME… _

*

On Wilbur’s lip, there was a melody, a hum of a song he does not remember, but the voice in his heart seemed to know it off by heart. 

He was walking through the corridors of Phil’s new house in New L’Manberg, watching as dust floated into the beams of sunlight on a strange but welcomed, sunny day. The walls were covered in picture frames, most of them from new memories that Wilbur’s dad had made.

Some of the pictures were strange though, apparently given as a gift by the former inhabitants of the old L’Manberg, Fundy, Niki, Tubbo and Tommy, who all said that Wilbur deserved them more than they did, whatever that meant.

Wilbur’s curiosity had always been a strength of his, but when he stopped at a certain frame hanging by the wall by itself next to Wilbur’s ‘room’, covered in a coating of filth around the golden surrounding, it became his weakness. The picture itself was of a time long ago, before the Dream SMP World had been created, where two twin brothers were wrapped around one another in a comfortable bed dead to the world but one another.

The day after that picture was printed out from the family polaroid, the older of the two, who had the permanently dyed pink hair, had left at age twelve to the largest world in the multiverse, Hypixel. 

Remembering that day, a bitter feeling sunk into Wilbur’s bones, but he doesn’t remember why. He should continue, memories aren't what he wants.

“Phil!” He called, a cheery undertone breaking through his voice, searching for his father. When he stepped, he did not properly touch the floor, he did not leave a mark from his soaks nor did he pick up the dirt he walked on. 

From down the hall, where there was a crack of light, a tired voice answered, “Over here, Wil!”

Following the sound of his father’s voice, he snaked down the corridor, ignoring the headache the pictures gave him and quickened his pace. Taking the energy from keeping his sound sense in focus and throwing it into anchoring his ability to open a door.

Wilbur figured out how to control the tiny things, after spending hours waiting for someone to open the door to the Camarvan, as he found his fingers weren't able to properly touch the stone button, only able to touch the cold surface but never interact with it. It had been Phil who had discovered him, slouched against himself, barely translucent to the living world and his legs tucked into his body. 

After a week, Wilbur appeared into his little brother’s house, grinning madly at his two present family members, yelling that he had figured out how to do normal things and that he could touch them. Smiling widely, Phil strode up to Wilbur, craning his head to look at his boy in the eyes, running a warm hand through the messy curls upon his head, melting his son’s heart.

They moved quickly into a hug, staying comfortably in each other’s embrace for what could have been minutes or hours, a story of father and son. 

Yet, something was off, as if a presence had been replaced with a hollow placement where a twin should be. A twin now distant from the rest of the world, far in a land surrounded by snow, reminding the twin of memories grown cold.

Tommy, still wary of the ghost, hesitated before reaching up and touching the pale hand of his deceased brother. Flinching at the contact, unused to not going straight through the limb like he normally would, tears rolling down his face quietly. Running scarred fingers along the toughened skin from years of playing the guitar, analysing it with a broken look. Carefully, he laced his own fingers between his brother’s, a sob breaking out of him.

So now he can open doors, lucky him. It was a bit awkward when he walked into an argument between his little brother and his friend, making them both immediately silent.

His father was hunched over a desk, scribbling blue prints of builds, and muttering quietly under his breath when he paused to think. In the room, the dimmed light contrasted with the giant rays of light pushing through the tiny caps in the curtains, creating pretty patterns on the floor. With the hat he normally wore thrown, discarded to the floor, Wilbur could clearly see the desperately needed haircut and the greasy reflection in certain parts of the room, Phil’s back turned away from the door.

“Have you seen my guitar?” Wilbur wondered, taking quiet steps closer to Phil’s desk.

Humming with a thought, his father replied, “Not recently, sorry.”

“Oh. Do you remember where you last saw it.” Trying hard not to sound sad at the news, wanting so badly just to play a song for his family again. Of course he’d only play when his twin comes back from one of his many tournaments. 

A couple seconds past of noisy silence, making Wilbur uneasy.

“I think Techno took it.” Strange, Techno and him used to have a silent pact never to take one another’s private things unless given permission, that’s why Wilbur was smart enough to never try to steal his twin’s book like the gremlin child did.

That memory sparked a small fire of confidence deep in Wilbur’s soul, wanting so badly to see his brother again, “Where’s Techno then?”

“Away from everyone else.” Phil shifted in his seat, moving to have his back further away from Wilbur’s prying eyes.

“Ah, so he’s at a tournament, which one?”

Sighing, Phil wrote a measurement to a particular side of a building, “Wil, mate, he’s not at a tournament either.”

“I see,” Wilbur murmured sadly, the numbness in his feet and hands coming back, but he wouldn’t give up then, “Can you get him?”

“No”

Phil always loved seeing Techno, why is it different now, “Why?” 

“He isn’t close by,” Phil said, his voice a deadly monotone, which normally would have affected his second oldest if he weren’t an amnesiac and dead. Turning to his son, Phil met Wilbur’s cold, flat brown eyes, ignoring how Wilbur’s fingers moved in out of consciousness. His dad’s eyes weren’t as bad as Wil’s, yet had a hollow feeling that dug into him.

“Oh can we go see him?”

“No.” 

“Why not?” Confused, Wil had asked in hopes of a steady answer, but his eyes finally opened and he saw how his father’s eyes were darkening from had to be anger. Wanting to go back to his sewers, he could practically feel his feet fading from sight.

“I doubt Techno would want to see us.”

Phil visited Wilbur’s twin a day after saying that. 

Wilbur knows because his father came back from his ‘trip’ with snow on his boots and clothes, and multiple new items that only Techno was strong enough to retrieve.

*

_ WHY DON’T YOU WANT TO SEE ME? _

*

Star shone overhead, fading in and out as the concentration of light swayed with the light breeze, making the flames dance with joy in the centre of a group of companions. Most of them were from the new country that had been formed over the last couple of months, however, some were from the other lands of the world they all lived in.

The night was late, friends were drowsily talking to one another, offering jokes and stories, all surrounding the medium sized campfire in front of them. Some were huddled to close for warmth, sharing blankets and sleeping bags, hoodies and hats, all in the spirit of unity.

Three months since the explosion, and there had been tension in the air at the start of the meeting, when people awkwardly pushed through the trees into the clearing, but it all changed back into the same tenderness as Before the War. Tommy and Tubbo, of course, still had rough edges to their conversations, however, most ignored the anxiety to be loved and to love. 

Luckily for Wilbur, he had managed to remember all of the people’s names in front of him, despite his mind going blurry whenever someone who wasn’t Niki or his family spoke, as if the rest were too painful to have memories of. He didn’t mind of course, how could he? He’s dead.

In his hands, there was a guitar, not his own, but the one Quackity had been kind enough to give him, and he sat strumming the strings as background music for his friends. When he had asked for suggestions, no one spoke, just stared at him sitting comfortably on the grass, as if unsure of what to do.

“Come on now, whilst we’re young,” he said chuckling, finding the small humour inside of him comical for once, but when he raised his head he met appalled faces. The smile that had emerged from cold lips slipped away as quickly as it came, creating an awkward tension amongst the group and him.

 _Techno would have found that joke funny_. The voice in his head spoke, flared with a spark of annoyance at his friends. Sighing, he brushed his fingers against the strings, filling the air with a pleasant hum, “Please just give me a song.”

Just his luck, no one answered. Wilbur deflated even further, moving to place the guitar to one side wanting to sink back into his grave.

“Can you sing the song?”

All eyes turned to the voice’s owner, who kicked pathetically at the ground, looking anywhere but their eyes. Wilbur’s heart warmed.

“Sure, as long as you specify which song,” Wilbur smiled at Fundy, who’s hopeful eyes faltered for a split second.

“The valley one,” Fundy reponseded, leaving his father confused for a couple of seconds until a memory flashed within his head, of a familiar situation to that moment. Grinning, Wilbur ready his fingers in the correct positions on the strings of his guitar, taking a deep breath and trying hard to remember the words.

“ _We were born in the valley_ ,” His throat is a bit croakey, but that’s fine, it was a normal thing. However, Wilbur’s mind still faulted and he anxiously looked up at the group, “ _Of the dead and the wicked, that our father's father found._ ”

Memories are strange things, they can appear from glancing at an object or they take ages to figure out and weave into a coherent reality. To Wilbur, this song was sitting around a fire with his family when they were younger, his twin as his backrest and his father roasting golden toned marshmallows. 

“ _And where we laid him down_ ,” If there were words to describe the sudden quietness, Wilbur could write a poem. He stopped for a second, taking in a breath and was about to begin again when someone else started singing.

“ _We were born in the shadow._ ” Tommy sang, fiddling with the seam of the shredded shirt he had on, looking so small compared to the world around him despite being so tall, the months of exile ruining his formally slightly scarred face with deep and darkening eye bags under his eyes, cuts at his chin and cheeks.

Smiling slightly, Wilbur continued with his little brother, “O _f the crimes of our fathers_.”

Tommy moved his eyes slowly upwards, looking so very tired as he sang the melody, his dull eyes gleaming from a small, small spark of happiness. 

“ _Blood was our inheritance_ ,” the two sang into the night air, amazing the people sitting around them, unused to the strangely wicked radiating from the dead man’s and the broken boy’s voices. 

Their father smiled. 

Fundy joined in the next line, feeling a glee he had not felt in a long time, “ _No, we did not ask for this_ ”

“ _Will you lead me?”_ Niki's beautiful voice rang out over the boys, who all had sung quieter, as Wilbur reduced his strumming, softly staring at the baker.

Reviving the loud pace of the song, Wilbur beaming as nearly everyone joined in _,_ “ _We were young when we heard you call_ , _our names in the silence_.”

 _“Like a fire in the dark._ ” The embers flew steadily into the sky, this time not coming from destruction or death, but from a small hearth of a large family.

“ _Like a sword upon our hearts_ ,” a twin sang along with his friends, no longer feeling empty or hollow as the other replaced another dead flower with a living flower upon a grave.

“ _We came down to the water_.”

“ _And we begged for forgiveness_.”

“ _Shadows lurking close behind_.” In the distance, a high reaching hill, a lonesome puppeteer sat listening to the singing, examining the terrain of his world, watching as the lights of his old friends’ houses were still on and saw them move around inside. One would expect the killer, the tyrant, the thief and the god, to feel regret as he saw, in the corner of his eye, embers rise from spruce trees, where the source of music came from. However, the puppeteer had lost his chance for redemption eons ago.

“ _We were fleeing for our lives._ ” the group yelled the penultimate line, cheering as the music continued on.

“ _Will you lead me?_ ” Wilbur sang the final lyrics, a grin plastered permanently upon his face, feeling unbearably warm, and his being was practically opaque from his joy. Pausing just for a second before unmercifully strumming the rest of the beautiful melody with unrivalled happiness and skill.

Closing his eyes in effort, he just made out Niki guiding Puffy to the centre of the circle of chairs, right next to the burning bonfire, and began to dance. Well… Dance had been a strong word to describe them pulling away from one another whilst holding hands and spinning, both uncontrollably laughing.

A knobbly elbow from a lanky boy into the side of his new found friend, whose glowing eyes blinked down at blond. Sighing in frustration, Tommy grabbed at Ranboo’s hand and pulled him into the centre along with Puffy and Niki, who both smiled at the two, offering them to join in the two’s spinning circle for a dance. 

Outside the dancing, the others carried the chorus, lifting their drinks high in the sky as pointed at the four and stopping just to catch some air. The ginger haired son wheezing as Ranboo almost slipped on the ground for the sixth time, leaning against the light chuckling President who had his eyes staring longingly as his former best friend.

Wilbur watched the scene unfold, feeling quite sad as the song finally came to an end but still laughed as the four dancing tumbled over one another, complaining about the dizziness. Around the edges, his friends clapped for his skill and the dancers’ mess, an enormous sense of wellbeing hit the ghost as he smiled and bowed dramatically.

Conversations started between them all, ranging from the simplest to philosophical in a matter of seconds, intriguing Wilbur whilst he jumped from conversation to conversation, occasionally tying Tommy’s shoelaces together to make the others laugh.

The evening turned into the deep depths of midnight, tired bodies moved to sit comfortably in the chairs, sleeping bags and blankets, huddling close to one another as the air grew cooler, creating a tranquil mood to settle happily over the group.

Deep inside of him, one of Wilbur’s memories cooed at the feeling.

There was a stampede of hooves hitting the floor coming from the woods, making everyone quieten and jump up rise from their comfortable positions in a matter of seconds, shaping their bodies in defensive stances.

A stallion broke through the trees, jumping through a group of bushes, it’s long legs flying upwards at the sudden intrusion of its path, whining loudly. On the back of it, holding on for dear life, the rider pulled tighter on the reins and soothed the strong breed to calm.

Once the horse had stopped flinching backwards and shuffling violently, Eret jumped off, his hair frazzled and his breathing laboured.

“Get water for the horse” he choked out, horridly shaking and swaying upon his feet. In the corner of Wilbur’s eye, he saw Phil move from his place protecting the two youngest boys and grabbing the spare bottles of water. Whilst, Niki, bless her soul, took the cooking water and poured it into a rather large crate, hovering in front of the horse.

Chugging the water, Wilbur watched pathetically as Eret’s hand shook unnaturally trying to lift the water to his lips, the light grey jacket he was wearing sleeve covered leaking blood.

Everyone was talking now, demanding a who, what and why from the poor man who had been struggling to breath all the time he arrived, Wilbur, who had enough of the headache inducing yapping, commanded over them, “Everyone be quiet! Let the man speak!”

 _Where did that come from?_ The ghostly voice in his head murmured, especially as all of his friends turned and stared at him, their expressions shocked like they had seen a ghost. 

_Oh, wait._

Choosing to ignore the silence, Phil turned back to Eret, swallowing whatever tears that had appeared back, “What happened Eret?”

“I found his house,” Eret gasped, trying to stand taller as his breather equaled out, Uncertainty passed over the crowd of friends, Wilbur himself, looked around their features and hoped for answers in their features with little success.

“Whose house?” Quackity asked.

Eret curiously met Wilbur’s eyes, “I found Techno’s house.”

Springing into action, Tommy replied, stepping towards the former traitor, fearing that someone had found his brother’s house, “What?” where?

“Far from here, a day’s horse ride, across a sea,” He gestured a hand in a random direction, stretching his back and drinking more of the water, “and that’s if you make your horse sprint it, and a fast boat.”

Tubbo, who had taken into his rank, broke into the conversation, “Why did you rush then? You could have spent a couple days coming back, why did you come back so quickly?”

 _Okay, he’s smart_ , Wilbur’s thoughts said, impressed by the boy.

Finally, breathing normally, Eret paused for his second, his lips moving as he talked quietly to himself, as if planning how to say the next information lightly. Sighing, he gave up and bluntly replied, “He’s missing.”

Chaos.

*

_ IMMORTAL, WHERE ARE YOU? _

_**I DON'T KNOW, BOAR, BUT I KNOW I AM BLEEDING** _

_ WHO TOOK YOU? _

**_NIGHTMARE_ **

_ WHY? _

**_HE DOESN’T LIKE ME_ **

*

“ _Tubbo, Tommy found him_ ,” a crackled voice broke through Tubbo’s communicator, Wilbur barely hearing it over the sounds of the fire crackling from the explosions and the shouting that ripped around them in the echoing dark entrance to the prison.

Looking up at Tubbo, Wilbur gestured to the device making the boy with chocolate hair roll his eyes and handed it over reluctantly, turning back to the debate. If it were months ago, Wilbur knew that the President would have been more worried about the man he grew up with than what to do with Dream’s corpse but that time had died when it fell off a tower in the remains of its home. 

Sighing, Wilbur spoke into the communicator, floating away from the crowd, hoping to see his brother, “Hello?”

“ _Wilb—”_ Ranboo’s voice cut through, sounding crispy and uneven, “ _—ur_?”

“So you found Techno?” He asks, his head filling unnaturally up with static. Looking at his feet, he saw how translucent they were.

“ _Yea w̷̞̮͋ê̷͍͉̚ ̷̟̊d̵̗͋i̴̫̐d̸͂͜,_ ” the teenager responded, soundly glum as he continued speaking, “ _He isn- looking g- good r̷͓͍̙̻̊i̶͍̚͠͝ͅg̷͖̫͇͖͑̀̑h̷͓̬̋̇̒͋̊t̶͓̪̰͋͑̒̃t n̸̥͐ŏ̸̯̕w̶̼̞̔̿_ .” Wilbur’s heart crawled up his throat, reminding him to tread carefully or he’d end up completely invisible to the world around him. So, he floated on the spot and let Ranboo continue, “ _We t̸h̶i̵n̸k̶ D̴͓̻͒͝ŗ̵͂e̴̞̱͂͒å̸̭m̵̢̙̐͆ made it so T̷̘͙̣͇̩͍̼̐͗̂͂͂̒́͜e̵̮̋̊̀̆͐̈́͘c̷̉́̕͜h̴̘̻̳̠̗̃͆̂̒̾͐̃̕n̵̨̠̞͔̺̦̮͇͓̾̊͑̃̀̓̑̅̋̚ͅo̸̳̰̒̏͘ ̶̜̜̫͉̝̖͕͛͌̂̕ could not hear the erm- v̸̡̬̟́͝ō̸̤̽̄i̴̤̱̇̋̑͘͝ç̵͙̞̦̻͛ë̷̛̱́̍͊̚?”_

Wilbur legs were gone now, leaving only the waist upwards, but he couldn’t care less. His twin had been hurt.

If he was smarter, the brown haired ghost would have practised teleporting like he could but his memory does not permit such intelligence, especially when his memory faded more and more as time passed on. 

Teleporting is tricky business, as it requires a justified explanation for going to that certain area and this justification varies every day. Today, it seems, whatever controlled this power, was satisfied with the desperate answer of the phantom, sucking him out of the reality Wilbur hovered in and throwing him across the fortress-like building.

Wilbur felt sick, yet whole at the same time, as if someone had given him a final breath of solidarity. 

He appeared in an almost pitch black room, if it weren’t for the tiny glow erupting from the crack in the wall, where, undoubtedly, his younger brother and father had broken through in order to reach Wilbur’s twin. 

A bunch of metal chains hung from the walls, heading towards the middle of the room like a spider’s web, interlocking with one another whilst also being weighed down by heavy blocks of netherite. Scratch marks littering the flood, dragging through dried blood and other muck such as excrement and urine.

By accident, he managed to scare the life out of Ranboo, who had turned to the sudden presence and yelped, causing the others to look up at him, their eyes red and puffy from crying.

Phil stared at his son, expression filled with shock as he raked his eyes up and down Wilbur’s body, causing a shiver of cold wind to sliver up Wil’s back.

 _Wait what_?

Anxiety bubbled within Wilbur as he realised that he could feel the freezing temperatures of the room, detecting the overbearing smell of faeces and rotten flesh. Panicking, he ran a hand through his hair, feeling the strands slink past the rigid feeling of his scarred hands.

He was touchable, he was physically alive but still dead.

“Boar?” a quiet voice hissed into the air, breaking every heart in the room as the taller twin looked at the hunched over body in the centre of the room, still attached to the walls by chains. 

Blood flowing from his ears, Techno shook his head violently, like he was trying to shake off a bug that would get off, clutching at the side of his head as he spoke to the ghost.

His eyes flickered to Phil’s face, seeing the devastated look he was giving his twin sons, shaking his head softly at the ghost, barely murmuring, “The voices, they’re gonna kill him.”

Wilbur turned back to Techno.

Two blue eyes met two brown eyes. 

Ignoring the sobs sprouting around them, Wilbur ran towards his twin, dodging chains whilst sliding down next to him and pulling the broken man onto his lap. 

“Hey, Immortal.” Giving a smile, Wilbur moved pinkish brown hair out of the other’s eyes, praying that his voice didn’t crack. Wiping off a drip of the red liquid that fell from Techno’s ears with the corner of his very real sleeve, the dead trying to comfort the dying.

“It hurts, Wilbur.” 

Being in a physical state began to rapidly drain his energy, he had to hold on, for his brother.

“I know it does.”

A pale hand reached up, cupping his cheek and brushing off a tear that had fallen from his eyes, before exhaustingly dropping back down.

Choking on air, Techno whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Wilbur huffed back, pulling back the drained smile.

“Not responding to you, Wil,” Techno explained, coughing, “I should have answered to you but… I was scared…”

Wilbur wanted it to stop, “What? The big scary Blood God? Scared of something?”

The two gave broken chuckles, subconsciously pulling themselves closer to one another, Wil’s head resting on top of the grease covered, pink mess for Techno’s hair. Watching as the others shuffled into the room, with either conflicted emotions or pure despair as they looked at the duo.

Meeting the eyes of the baker, who gave him the smallest of supportive smiles, nodding at him as she finished analysing the situation, Wilbur mouthed a silent goodbye to her.

“I could save you,” Wilbur suggested, craving for his brother to see the sun once more. 

Below him, Techno’s eyes widened, the pinkette in his arms shook his head, latching a weak hand upon Wilbur’s arm, “I don’t want to lose you”

“Techno, you should know by now.” Wilbur brought his lips to Techno’s forehead, “I will always be with you, whether you can see me or not. I’ll just be another voice in that smart head of yours, Immortal” In the corner of his eye, he could see the faint yellow glow emitting from his ghostly form, surrounding Techno in the same embrace Wilbur was giving him.

Wilbur felt Techno shudder underneath him, making him move his head to look into his twin’s eyes, “Please don’t go, Wilbur.”

“Promise me something,” Wilbur spoke quietly.

“Anything.” Tears now left clear pathways down the pale cheeks of the other, removing the dirt that had coated Techno’s skin.

“Remember me?”

“How could I forget you,” reasoned the other, trying to ignore how he was slowly sinking to the ground as the ghost faded from view.

“I love you, Techno.”

Wilbur’s eyes could no longer focus, as everything began to blur, the yellow light increasing with brightness every millisecond,

“I love you too, Wilbur.”

Once the glow disappeared, there was only one body, yet two entwined souls.

*

**_IT HAS BEEN TWO YEARS SINCE YOU HAVE DIED._ **

-

**_HAPPY FIVE YEARS OF DEATH! AND I GUESS HAPPY 27 YEARS OF LIFE._ **

**_-_ **

**_I AM THIRTY NOW. TOMMY IS TWENTY FOUR. FUNDY HAS GOT HIS FIRST GIRLFRIEND._ **

-

**_PHIL GOT MARRIED_ **

**_-_ **

**_FUNDY HAD A SON. HIS NAME IS WILLIAM._ **

-

**_PHIL IS DEAD._ **

**_-_ **

**_TOMMY GOT MARRIED!_ **

-

**_TOMMY HAD THREE KIDS, ALL A YEAR APART._ **

-

**_FUNDY HAD TWINS! REBECCA AND ALICE!_ **

-

**_TOMMY DIED. TUBBO FOLLOWED SOON AFTERWARDS._ **

-

**_FUNDY HAD ANOTHER SON, TOM PHILIPS._ **

-

**_I MISS MY BROTHERS._ **

*

“There once was a special place,” the book’s summary read.

Roaring green hills stretched forever on the horizon, coinciding with the soft waves of the ocean that danced next to it, allowing the multiple countries that had formed between the two elements of earth and water to thrive after the wars. 

One country, once fueled by the fiery hearts of its residents, had bloomed over the years, overtaking the power of the once much larger country next to it, known for the legends about heroes and villains that descended from its very start until its present.

Legacy spread across the large city, a couple posters for the memorial that would happen later that week thrown across the busy streets of the city centre, children excitingly pointing as ‘famous’ faces strode amongst the people, lineages of the Founding Fathers’ families, who ignored the gawks the tourists and newcomers gave them.

“Where men could go and emancipate,” the blurb continued, hand-written, “the brutality and tyranny of their rulers.” 

The idea of tyrants left both of the societies long ago, after the chocolate haired seventeen year old stepped down from Presidency and hoped not to fall into immediate madness like the two before him. With each new leader, one being the first born of the country and one being the hybrid that joined the country after the second war.

In the other country, the monarchy became an image for tourists to talk about and ask the locals intruding questions about the Kings and Queens that ruled, as if they knew the poshed up people in the castle personally.

Later, the same once-powerful country, unified with the country formed by revolution to become a large sector within, dismantled the Crown and made the castle they lived in a museum for the past.

“Well this place is true, you needn’t fret.” a teen traced the words with a finger whilst doing anything but paying attention in history class, oceans away, in a far off land.

In the midst of the beauty that is the evolved country, there also is an uncanny need for destruction that still rests upon the bloodline of the Pandel family, even the longest living member of the family can see the passion when his grandnephew stares into the flames.

A keen for destruction spreads, like a virus, it becomes the true nature of L’Manbergians. 

Whispers of legends fill the newcomers' heads, warning them of the past, either trapping them in the city’s now invisible walls, or, they leave in a hurry, never looking back. The heroes in the children’s stories don’t have this virus, the historians say they had brains made for creation and were never afraid. Liars. 

“With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo and Eret,” a choir sings to the ex-President, who still privately frowns at his disconclusion, but smiles brightly as his father’s name is sung for the audience of his people. His partner roles their eyes, knowing full well that, at home, the same boring argument will happen once again.

Unlike the other, the hybrid ex-President will forever feel the quietest nostalgia for the song, despite never being a part of the country when the flag had been flown high.

“It’s a very big and not blown-up L'Manberg,” the last of the brothers jokes to the children, ruffling their dirtied hair as they sit in the orphanage, reciting stories of his younger years and epics from Greek tales, filling their mind with gods, heroes and much more. Bidding them a small goodbye earlier than usual so he could begin the long track to the tree.

He had grown old through the years, his hair turned a wispy grey with very few strands left from the pink brown mixture of locks he once had, and the smoothness of his skin had molded into wrinkles of wisdom and age. In an unforgiving manner, many of his proud, long and deep scars faded, leaving white jagged lines in their wake, each one a story for his grandnieces and grandnephews to enjoy every time they visited him.

Now the last of the original five members of their family, the former emperor, king, god and, firstly, brother, sat alone next to the tree, looking across the fully fledged land with an unbridled state of peace. The wooden bench he sat one was quite comfortable and shards of sun did not hit his glasses for the tree’s large branches, full of leaves, shielded the man from the sun.

His father had died in his sleep seventeen years ago, possibly from a heart which had been torn for the millionth and final time when his wife died from kidney failure a couple weeks beforehand.

His youngest brother died when a train track driver did not notice the damaged and shrivelled war hero walking on the tracks where he killed the green tyrant years ago, leaving stains upon the road next to tracks where he died. His nephews and his singular niece never got to see their father after that, so they came to him for family diners. 

His semi-adopted brother died when it got all too much for him, found in a crater of an exposition home, under two pillars standing alongside one another, with only one pillar being used. 

Leaving Techno truly alone in the world for the first time in thirty years after the second war, with no one to turn to except from four slabs of polished stone under the same tree he sat underneath, with a space in between the youngest child and the younger twin for Techno’s own slab.

Originally, the old man asked his nephew to send him out on a rickety boat and set his corpse on fire. However, after many months complicating it, he realised being with his family under the tree is something he would much rather do.

It was quite cold. Not surprising since the seasons were shifting into the harshness of November’s warning winds, yet he still wished he could complain. Maybe he would when he gets there.

Where is it, where is ‘there’, you may ask. It is the end of that long road of life. Techno’s road, thank goodness, is entwined with another’s. Some would call it having a soulmate, but he preferred naming it brother.

The bench he sat on, though very well looked after, had been creaky for his old body to rest on. Then again, the seat had been designed by two sixteen year olds. Only positive to this seat, would be the view.

A perfect scene as the sun set too early, bright spots of lights appeared across the city, covering up blinks from the star. Colours reflecting in the orange fade of the country, bright blues clashing with the darkened reds as flags flew high above the evening dwellers, ready for the Festival of the 16th.

At the docks, ships pulled into the harbour, seagulls raked across the sky, scavenging for the last scraps of fish as the smallest of boats loaded barrels upon the wooden decks, chattering to one another. And despite the moon setting in front of him, he could see how the moon reflected in waves across the water.

Peaceful. 

Techno took in a deep breath, the air around him shook as the spirit shimmered into view.

“It really is beautiful, isn’t it?” the antique soul said into the crisping air, closing his eyes and let the wind brush against his pale skin, 

Next to him, a voice gave him a chuckle, “Quite right, it is, brother.”

Giving a wrinkled smile to the spirit next to time, he spoke in soft words, “Do you think they’ll remember me?”

Wilbur scoffed, well Techno thought he did, he hadn’t been sure if the ghost was actually there, “How could they forget you?” 

“I’m surprised they did remember your insane life.”

“You did.”

“Because you’re my brother, Wil, I could never forget you.”

“You ready?” Wilbur hesitantly asked into Techno’s mind as the twin began to slip into a deep sleep.

“With you by my side?” He mumbled, “always.”

Fundy found his uncle thirty minutes later, sitting on the bench, under the tree, next to the four graves. 

*

Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you planned:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my twitter: @devotedlyquack
> 
> Please comment, kudos and read my other works! Just click on my user to see them :) (recommend "15th September, 1916" a WW1 au.)
> 
> =================
> 
> In the only single sentences scenes, Wilbur is talking to Techno, who refers each other as "Boar" (Wilbur means Boar) and "Immortal" (Technoblade means Immortal)


End file.
